Snippet #1592578

John felt a hint of suspicion in the air, like he was being interrogated for a crime. He didn't like it. As he was about to lecture Isolde on the principles of Martian Geology, Isolde made an even worse statement. How dared she to confuse him with a politician! It was bad enough that she'd questioned his, admittedly, partially invented geological methodology, but this was the proverbial drop that spilled the bucket.

"Me a politician! Ha! Geologists are rubbish politicians; they had to drag the Romanian president out of the pub each time he escaped his own security!" Suddenly, hiding a few bottles of booze didn't seem like such an issue anymore. "Look, I was just picking up a bottle of scotch that I smuggled, that's all. I thought we might do with some drinks on this tin boat. If you don't like it; then report me to the captain. I'm off to my bunk!"

John picked up the bottle of Stuart's Draft and stormed out of the cargo bay. He went straight for the rec room; poured himself a drink and put the bottle on the table for everyone else to drink. "Better drink it now." he muttered. As he calmed down a thought entered his head: There were definitely some trust issues between him and Isolde. He should have controlled his emotions better. After all, they would have to walk on Mars together. He took a sip of his scotch while David Bowie's lyrics sounded; "Is there life on Mars?"